Lucy and Linus
by phobo
Summary: Long after the events of Jewpacabra, Cartman finds comfort in the blue blanket Kyle gave him—except he obviously doesn't remember it was Kyle who gave it to him. KyMan if you squint.


**A/N:** Hey guys! I've been pretty into South Park recently, so I decided to do this random one-shot instead of writing what I SHOULD be writing because I suck. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it!

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Cartman tugged at the thick, baby blue fabric covering his shoulders as he clicked mindlessly through the TV stations on that boring Saturday afternoon. The stitching on the blanket had been coming undone ever since he got it snagged on the corner of his bed frame, but he didn't give a shit. It was beginning to smell like sweat and dirt, and the remnants of Cheesy Poof powder clung to its fuzzy fibers. He'd never washed the damn thing and he never planned to. The young boy was firm in his belief that if it was ever washed, all of the comfort and healing it provided him would be stripped away, kind of like a lucky charm. One time, his mom picked it up off the floor next to his bed and threw it in with the rest of his dirty laundry. As she walked down the stairs with the basket in tow, Cartman looked up from his seat on the couch and caught a glimpse of the baby blue sheet. Needless to say, he did his fair share of yelling—for ten minutes, to be exact. He tried his damndest to drill his message into her head: do not _ever_ wash that blanket.

He didn't even remember how he got it, actually. All he knew was that it wasn't his to begin with. One morning, after a night of horrible nightmares, he just woke up with the thing draped around him. The smell and the feel of it comforted him, making him forget all about his frightening dreams. He felt safe. So now whenever he's feeling crappy, he just turns to his fluffy shield for relief. He felt pretty lame for having such an attachment to it; his friends would surely rip on him if they knew, but it wasn't unlike Cartman to keep secrets from those closest to him. He had secrets deep inside that even his own conscious mind didn't know about.

The funny thing was, even though he'd never seen the blanket before in his life, when he woke up on that Easter Sunday he felt something he'd felt many times before. The familiarity was what calmed him. He wasn't sure if it was the way the fabric smelled or the way it felt in between his pudgy fingers, but it all seemed so right. Some days he would just ball it up in his hands, take a big whiff and rub his cheeks against the plush cloth, even if it was just for a moment. That was all the motivation he needed to get through the day.

Once Cartman found a show that piqued his interest, he threw the remote across the room and sunk further into the couch. It wasn't Terrance and Phillip, but it was something. He turned to the end table next to the sofa, grabbing an almost-empty box of Snacky Cakes. His mom was going to have to get him more. "Fucking weak," he mumbled under his breath as he popped the very last pastry into his mouth.

As he opened his cake-filled mouth to yell to his mom, he heard a knock at the front door.

" _Mom_ , door!" His annoyingly loud voice reverberated through the entire house, but he does not get a reply. The knocking continued. "MOM! Get the fucking door!" He was greeted by silence once again. He exaggerated his displeasure, making sure to huff as loudly as he could while struggling to get off the couch. As he trudged over to the front door, he quietly grumbled to himself—something about his mom being a lazy bitch.

The figure standing at the door was the last person he'd expect: his friend—well, more like his archrival—Kyle.

"Hey, fatass," he spoke calmly. His hands were in the pockets of his puffy winter jacket and his wild jewfro was tucked neatly away under the flaps of his hat.

"Oh, hello _Kyle_." Cartman always made it a point to emphasize his friend's name. "What brings you here?" He smiled at him with feigned civility.

The skinnier one rolled his eyes. "Stan just got a new game. He wants us all to come over and try it out."

Cartman tilted his head to the side and his fake smile grew wider. "You don't say? Well then, I'll just grab my coat." He turned away from the door and started up the stairs. "Oh and stay at the door please," he quipped on his way up, "I don't want you stealing my stuff while I'm up here. I know how your kind can be, _Kyle_." He spoke with a singsong lilt in his voice.

Kyle neglected to acknowledge his fat friend's ignorance; he was more focused on the baby blue blanket that was left dangling over the side of the couch. It looked old and worn. The last time Kyle saw it, it was almost brand new. Now, it was all ripped up and tattered along the edges. The color was dulled and it didn't look as soft as when he last laid eyes on it.

Maybe it wasn't the blanket he was thinking of. Maybe it wasn't the one he selflessly sacrificed for Cartman on that chilly, spring night, just so that fat piece of shit wouldn't catch a cold on the walk back to his house. If it was, he clearly didn't bother to take good care of it. That annoyed Kyle. When someone gives you something, you're supposed to take care of it, not shred it up like an old dish rag. ' _Why do I hang out with him, again?_ '

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Cartman lumbering down the stairs. "Alright, let's go." He sounded much less enthused than he did moments ago. He walked towards the door and attempted to push past Kyle until said boy put his arm out, blocking his path.

"Wait," he spoke coolly. "What's that?" Kyle took his other hand out of his pocket and pointed towards the little blue blanket that hung haphazardly from the sofa cushion. Cartman turned slightly, but for some reason he already knew what he was talking about. His face contorted in agitation.

"Like, why's it all filthy? It looks all ripped up. Why don't you wash it or something, dude?" Kyle's steady voice did not waver. He was looking his friend right in the eyes, and Cartman was looking right back.

He furrowed his brow indignantly, a frown finding its way upon his chubby face. If looks could kill, Kyle would be dead.

"That's none of your goddamn business, you filthy Jew."

Kyle's mouth hung open in astonishment. It wasn't because of what he said, but it was _why_ he said it that confused him. What made him so protective over that dirty old blanket? Either way, he didn't care enough about it to make a big deal.

Cartman, finding the silence rather uncomfortable, cleared his throat and straightened out his jacket. "Erm, well, we should get going. We don't want Stan and Kenny waiting on us, huh? Haha…" He spoke dully and his eyes drifted away from the person he was speaking to. He found it hard to look him in the eyes now.

Kyle turned away from the door and started down the front steps. There was a whirlwind in his mind. "Yeah, let's go."


End file.
